


Medicinal

by Emilys_List



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Post Bartlett Administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-07
Updated: 2004-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_List/pseuds/Emilys_List
Summary: "She liked to give these moments concrete space in her mind."





	Medicinal

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  


| 

**Medicinal**

**by:** emily’s list

**Character(s):** Josh, Donna  
**Pairing(s):** J/D  
**Category(s):** Post Administration  
**Disclaimer:** i don't own most characters of this story, but i DO own josh  & donna's offspring. how weird is that?  
**Summary:** "She liked to give these moments concrete space in her mind."  
**Spoiler:** None  
**WARNING** this fic contains drug use. i'm not necessarily pro-legalization, but i thought it would make an interesting story. it takes place in 2026, and operates under the belief that legalization of medical marijuana in virginia has occurred. 

+2026+ 

She stares up at the Sky. It's between sunset and nightfall, and the Sky is sinking into a dark hue. She wiggles a little, and the hammock gently swings in response. 

She adjusts her new sunglasses. He told her the glasses made her look like Audrey Hepburn. When she looked in the mirror, she saw huge glasses that didn't look quite right on her emaciated face. The sunglasses were unnecessary at this time of day, but she was past the point of caring about things like that. She waits for him to return, and takes a sip of her iced tea. 

Real iced tea, fresh brewed by her doting husband. 

She used to take care of him. 

Now, he makes her iced tea. He had slipped a straw in the glass, and kissed her forehead when he handed off the beverage. 

Somewhere in her Sky gazing, a telephone ring interrupts her thoughts. "Donna Moss," she answers with a sigh. 

"Mom, what's wrong?" 

She pulls her sunglasses off slowly. "Hi. How are you?" 

"I'm fine, what's wrong?" 

"How's New York?" She tries to misdirect. 

"Mom!" 

"I'm fine, chamois fine, everything's good." She has uttered the dreaded C-word, and she hears her daughter sniffling. "How's New York?" she asks again softly. 

"I'm... I dropped the American Government course." 

"That's okay. You didn't want to take it." 

"Daddy sort of--" 

"I know. You really shouldn't let him get involved in the scheduling process. He almost had me taking some Physics course on the--" 

"Mom, I want to come home." 

"For the weekend? Good. Let us know what time, we'll come get you at Union." 

"I want to take a semester off." 

Donna's eyes drift towards the Sky again. "Absolutely not." 

"I hate being three hours away when you're sick." 

"You're not taking a semester off, Rachel." 

"But I feel like I'm wasting my time! It's simple. I'm coming home," she says defiantly. 

Donna puts her sunglasses back on. "What would you do if you came home? You'd want to take care of me, but the doctors and Dad are doing that. You would end up on the couch watching MTV and you definitely don't need to be doing that. Get your degree. It's what I want you to do." 

She held her breath for a moment, and was relieved to hear her daughter say, "It's looking like it's going to be English." 

"Well, good. I wouldn't want you to be able to use your degree." 

"Says the Theatre major." 

"That was ages ago, it was a minor, and I got my degree in Poli Sci and Government, thank you very much," she admonishes with fake hostility. She thinks about how her daughter looks right now. Probably sprawled out on her dorm room bed, staring at the ceiling. 

Rachel wonders if her mother is in the backyard. She can vaguely hear cicadas. God, she hates summer in Virginia. 

"Where's Dad?" 

"He's... picking up my prescription." 

"Oh. Okay. Mom, I know you hate to talk about this, but... just tell me how bad it is. Please." 

"I'm fine," she lies. "Hey, you know what would be great? We should write letters. We'll correspond. Let's use quills and ink." She hears the car pull up into the driveway, and she glances towards the Saab. "I have to go, baby, but I'll call you tomorrow morning. I love you." 

"Love you, too. Good night, Mom." 

"Hey, Dad just got back, do you want to talk to him?" 

"Yeah." 

Josh walks towards her sullenly, holding a package in his hand. She holds the phone out to him. "It's Rach." 

He talks to his daughter while watching his wife. "Hey, how's-- Rach, calm down... Have you lost your mind? You're staying in school... Trust her, okay? She said she's fine... Next weekend is great. Let me know what time, honey. Love you... Bye." He hangs up and hands the phone to Donna. 

He drops into the chair next to the hammock. "Sit up," he whispers. "How're you feeling?" 

Slowly, she sits up and swings her legs over the side of the hammock. He inches closer and spreads his legs so his thighs are on either side of hers. Donna's hands come to rest on the tops of his thighs. "I feel nauseous again," she admits. She looks away. 

"Swinging in the hammock didn't help," he jokes. Badly. He leans down to pick up the package. "Aren't you grateful for our connections?" He pulls a tightly wrapped package from the original. 

She looks at it. "To me, this feels like giving up." 

He nods. "Rachel wants to take the semester off." 

"She told me. I told her over my dead body." 

"Donna," he says sharply. 

She indulges in a half-smile. "It's funny." 

"No. It's not." He holds the package in his hands. "You know, I'm not entirely sure how we're supposed to do this." He smirks. "Wanna bake some brownies?" 

She pales and shakes her head. "I'd feel worse if I ate something." 

Josh nods and produces rolling papers and a lighter, handing them over to his wife. 

She sits there, staring at his purchases. "This feels like I'm giving up," she says again. 

"Dr. Maxted suggested this. Your doctor feels it will relieve the nausea. Isn't that a good thing?" 

"Yes," she answers slowly. "But I'm still smoking pot." 

"Medicinal marijuana that is going to make you feel better," he corrects. 

"I'm not going to be better, Josh, I'm just going to be high." 

He touches her hand. "There's nothing to be worried about. It's like morphine." 

"It is NOT like morphine, if I was using morphine in the backyard it would be an entirely different situation. Hard to imagine, but it would be worse." She looks at the rosebush she planted earlier in the year. "And I spoke out against legalization so I feel like a hypocrite." 

He opened the package carefully. "I haven't done this in..." He squints, looking up at the sky. "I don't even know." He takes the package of rolling papers from her hand. 

"I said, We cannot condone a substance when there are products that ease pain in a more--" 

"We're at our last option, Donna. And you were ordered to say that by the President," he reminds her. 

"I was ordered to say that by the White House Chief of Staff." She glares at him; He remembers that meeting well. "But that isn't the point. I said it. And now my husband is rolling me a joint in our backyard." 

Josh stops his hands and looks up at her. "If anyone knew what your pain was like... if they were feeling HALF of what you're feeling, they'd be rolling it for you." 

Her hand skims across his cheek. "You know what it's like." 

He nodded. "And I don't even really know. You feel horrible, Dr. Maxted made a suggestion, we made a call. That's what I know." 

"I can't have someone find out." 

"Are you seeing the headline, Former Cabinet Secretary Smokes Up?" 

"...Yeah." 

"Hey, it's getting pretty dark, Jack Nicholson. You want to take off the shades?" 

"I thought I looked like Audrey Hepburn." 

"The Jack Nicholson thing was in regard to the fact that he never takes off his gla-- Do I have to explain it when I tease you now?" She swats away a mosquito and looks him in the eye. "Donna, calm down. I'm not giving you a shot. Quite the opposite, actually." 

"I hate shots," she mumbles. She's been poked with so many needles as of late she can almost feel the sensation, but she still can't get used to it. 

Donna takes off her sunglasses and removes her scarf that often adorns her head. He says she's still stunningly beautiful, but he always flinches briefly when he sees her very short hair. 

He can deal with how thin her body has become, her sharp angles that make him ache when he holds her. He can almost be okay with the loss of luster in her eyes. But he's still getting used to her short hair. 

To her, short hair was better than no hair at all. It had been a shock when her hair fell out and it had been a relief when it began to grow back. "You light it," she says. 

He fights a smile. "I feel like I'm college. Can we go make out in the third floor stacks of the library?" 

"You never did that." He shakes his head. "When I'm feeling better, we'll go up to Cambridge. Maybe you'll get lucky." 

He lights it and passes it to her. She stares at the joint. "I used to be a good girl before I met you." She puts it to her lips and inhales. 

The smoke burns her throat, and she makes a pained face. She coughs. "Ow," she rasps. 

Josh takes one hand and cups it between his hands. He brings their hands to his mouth and closes his eyes. He seems lost in prayer as she smokes. 

"I never did this -- ugh, my throat hurts -- I never did this in college. I was good." 

He wants to yell at her, tell her that chemotherapy wasn't making her ill in college. He says nothing, keeping his eyes closed. 

"Should we tell Rachel?" He shakes his head. "Do you think she smokes?" He shakes his head again. "So I guess I just... finish this? I'm not feeling worse. That's good. Honey, why won't you look at me?" 

Josh opens his eyes slowly. 

"I want you to watch me." He does as she wishes, wanting to cry. The darkness under her eyes, the thin fingers she lifts to her mouth as she smokes, the smoke wafting around her face. All of it. He hates all of it. He wants her back, healthy and whole. He hates the feeling that death hovers around them constantly. 

Sometimes he wants to leave. It's ridiculous, when those thoughts come to him, but he thinks them anyway. He could go to some tiny tropical island and ride a bike and read and not think about when she needs to take her next pill. He wouldn't have to worry about doctor's appointments or doctors or nausea or medicinal marijuana. 

If he closes his eyes, he doesn't have to look at illness that is staring him in the face. 

Her wedding ring has become too big for her finger. He watches the ring, choosing to focus on her band instead of her face. 

She hands him the joint, still lit. She's had enough. 

He lets her hand go, and she lays down on the hammock. "Let's go inside," he urges. She smiles up at him. 

"Lay down with me." 

Josh shakes his head firmly, but relents. He always does -- for her. They settle in the hammock together, his new presence creating a rocking motion. 

"Look up, Josh." He does as he's told. 

"The Sky is just so... magnificent. Isn't it wonderful? Our baby, our family, friends... all the people we love, under the same Sky." Her wide eyes fill with tears. "I drove under this Sky to New Hampshire. My parents died under this Sky. How can it possibly contain all of this? All of us?" 

He was silent. His only reaction was to stroke her arm, which was almost enough. 

She didn't feel better or worse or high. She didn't feel strong. If she was to be honest with herself, she had never felt this weak before. She would die, too young, and her funeral would be well-attended. Her daughter and husband would cling to each other, crying quietly. She envisioned it all, not because she particularly enjoyed it, but because she liked to see moments that hadn't happened yet. She liked to give these moments concrete space in her mind. To her, fantasies always deserved equal time to memories. 

And so she found herself remembering her first Cabinet meeting. 

And the three weeks she'd stayed with her parents when she thought her marriage wouldn't survive. 

Rachel's first birthday. 

The first time she saw the Pacific Ocean, and the way the sun glimmered on the waves. 

A tear ran down her cheek, and she wiped it away. There was no guarantee of survival or death. Her cancer could go into remission, and she could live a million healthy years. Or she could be gone tomorrow. 

There was no guarantee. 

"I love you," he said suddenly. He said it to remind himself, and to reassure her. 

She doesn't smile or react. 

She stares up at the Sky instead. 

+the end+ 

1.5.6503.32258 $(document).scroll(function () { localStorage['page'] = document.URL; localStorage['scrollTop'] = $(document).scrollTop(); }); $(document).ready(function () { if (localStorage['page'] == document.URL) { $(document).scrollTop(localStorage['scrollTop']); } });   
---


End file.
